Page 13 of Vilest Things
As the phone rings, a pungent smell suddenly hits her nose. It’s coming from a half-shuttered storefront, and Calla hastens her speed. There could well be a corpse rotting in there, and she’s startled for a heartbeat by her own callous reaction. Finding dead bodies out in Rincun is a reason to send her hurrying toward the palace, but not in San-Er. Dead bodies out there are a problem, a symptom of something terrible soon to erupt; here, they are another day, another damp gray afternoon turning into a cloying night where cracked ground-floor windows look onto addicts lying diagonal on insect-infested mattresses.
“Magnolia Diner.”
The cheery voice crackles, answering right as Calla ducks into a building and hits a patch of rough signal. Her surroundings remain at a low drone: murmurs from a higher floor, an electric bulb buzzing overhead, a shudder along the walls that might be an air conditioner coming to life. Though she can run fast, it’ll take considerable time to get to the Palace of Union on foot. Less, however, if she goes by way of the rooftops and cuts a direct line through the dense city.
“Hey,” Calla says. There’s a blue arrow spray-painted beside the staircase at the end of the corridor. “Is that you, Chami?”
“Unless I’ve been jumped unbeknownst to everyone around me, yes.”
Calla almost misses the first step up, her grip turning bone white on the handrail. Chami is joking; of course she’s joking. It’s common sarcasm that children fire back at their mothers, something so impossible it can only be in jest. Still, Calla shudders as she corrects her stride, ascending three stairs at a time.
“Is Yilas around?”
“When is she not? One second—my love? My dearest, softest baby?”
Calla snorts. Despite herself, she cradles the phone close. She continues climbing, passing seven flights of stairs, then eight, nine, ten…
“Hello, Your Royal Highness.”
Calla pushes through the rooftop door just as Yilas’s voice bursts through the static.
“Your brother,” Calla says without greeting. “Is he on shift in the palace surveillance room right now?”
In the one night she had as royal advisor before being booted from the palace onto a delegation mission to Rincun, Calla did everything she could to plant an extra set of eyes in the Palace of Union. Both Yilas and Chami said they would rather defenestrate themselves than serve the crown again. But Matiyu Nuwa… he needed a new job after his departure from the Crescent Societies. It was easy enough to maneuver him into place, especially with Anton distracted. Calla presented the edict to let palace employees come and go rather than reside inside the walls—to let ordinary civilians working the surveillance room or cleaning the kitchens take shifts and clock in and out for the first time since Calla’s parents were murdered in the other palace and Kasa ramped up security in his own.
Their esteemed new king signed off on it right away to get her out of his sight.
“Princess Calla, you were the one who hired him. Shouldn’t you know?”
“I haven’t exactly carried his schedule out with me to the great provinces.”
“Fine, fine. Let me see…”
Yilas trails off to the sound of rapid clicking. Her pager, probably. Moments later, just as Calla is leaping between two rooftops, Yilas reports: “Yes, he’s on shift for the next hour. Why—”
“Tell him to get me in. I’ll wait by the south entrance. One of the cameras should pick me up. Thank you, bye!”
Calla hangs up. She’s being rude, but Yilas won’t mind. It’s hard to hold a phone to her ear and listen to San-Er under her feet at the same time. If there’s any burst of noise, it will be civilians emerging from their homes and flocking to the main thoroughfare. They will want to watch the returning delegation whileit moves through San-Er to return to the palace, and Calla needs to keep an ear out so she can get back first and check on some business.
“Oh,shit.” When Calla leaps to the next rooftop, her boot skids. It must have rained earlier, shallow puddles forming where the surface is uneven. Calla narrowly recovers her balance to avoid falling off the building, but her knee goes down fast, striking cement and whatever discarded electronic pieces have been left up here.
Sharp pain moves through her leg. Calla grits her teeth hard, then picks herself up and continues forward. A brief slip. She’ll be okay. Though she’s been away for some time, the twin cities don’t warp around her absence. San-Er waits, ever patient, perking to attention the moment she returns like her best-fitted shirt, more easily indulged than resisted.
The south entrance of the Palace of Union protrudes from a section of the coliseum. Calla descends before she’s within distance and returns to the pavement. Illegal drug trade starts on the rooftops during these hours, keeping operations close to the coliseum for the sort of patrons wanting to make a pickup after their late-night grocery shopping. Plenty of Crescent Society presence on those rooftops too, and Calla doesn’t have time to be recognized.
Brief glimpses of the coliseum peek through the narrow spaces between shop buildings, flashing gray stone and golden lights. Calla takes a wrong turn at first, but before she can circle back, she catches casual conversation in the next alley over—palace guards. With a brief, muttered curse, she acts fast, rushing over to a window and tapping the glass a few times.
She pauses to listen. No response. When she hears the guards turning the corner, she nudges open the window and enters the apartment, keeping her tread light over the messy floor. The room is surrounded by scattered burlap sacks and emptied cans of precooked meat. Whoever the occupant of this apartment is, it appears they’re unpacking from a fresh move, which strikes Calla as strange. People don’t move around much in San-Er; the circumstances don’t changeenough to warrant it, unless someone is drawn in the migration lottery and allowed entry from the provinces.
She steps out the front door and hurries down the hall, then through an exit into the next street. The palace’s south entrance looms ahead, around the dark bend and past the dilapidated fragment of an awning that has fallen from a third-floor restaurant. Calla presses forward just enough for the cameras to catch her, then checks her phone so the guards at the entrance don’t notice her arrival.
While she pretends to tap the buttons, a real message comes through.
What number were you calling from? Will my pager come through can you see this
Calla blows out air in the shape of a laugh, her bangs puffing up before landing back in place.
I am on cellular. Yes I see this.
